


High And Tight

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [15]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Gibbs loses a bet and has to let Tony cut his hair.





	High And Tight

<><><><>High and Tight<><><><>

Great thanks to my betas Jake and Jordre, who keep my penchant for rampant comma misuse under control.

I hate the way Mark Harmon has his hair cut. My Dad always said, “Never trust a man who parts his hair in the middle, or slicks it straight back.” And long on top and shaved on the bottom just looks silly. So ... 

 

.<><><><>

 

Tony settled at the kitchen table at GHQ. They were all still a bit wired from the Nancy Jones thing last month but were managing to pretend to be normal. Ducky opined that most people just pretended most of the time anyway. So they were playing cards on Friday night.

“Okay! Who’s up for a game of draw poker?” Tony settled down at the big kitchen table that Gibbs had built and shuffled the cards. The other men gathered around to take a hand. Since there were only six of them, there were no sit-outs. Tony dealt cards then looked at his hand. 

Dean eyed Gibbs’ fresh haircut with a grimace. “Man, how’d you offend your barber? That cut’s awful.”

Gibbs scowled at his cards. “What’s wrong with my haircut?”

Cosmo rearranged his hand absently, commenting, “What’s not wrong with it?”

Remy snorted. “I know swamp-trotters wit’ bedda.” He put down a card. “One.”

Tony controlled the play with the air of someone who dealt poker on a regular basis. Since there was often nothing to do on deployment but play cards, he had plenty of experience. “Okay, gentlemen, ante up.”

Everyone ante-ed in turn, and the conversation returned to Gibbs’ haircut. Gibbs tried to turn the conversation by asking, “AJ, where’s Ducky?” 

“Bridge. Spartan Club.” He eyed his cards, then folded.

Gibbs frowned at that; his short answer gave Tony more leeway to pay attention to dealing, and harassing him about his hair.

Cosmo grinned, sorted his hand, then said, “Duck-man is taking a chair in the tournament. He and his partner are in the semi-finals.”

Jimmy nodded. “I was his partner until they barred non-club members. He’s partnered with some judge. They get along fairly well. Even after the judge trumped Ducky’s ace... well, he wasn’t that happy, even if they did win the hand and the game because of it. Don’t get it. If it helped them win, what’s the problem?”

Gibbs allowed, “One of those things that ‘just isn’t done, old boy.’ Wouldn’t bother me a bit. Two.” He tossed two cards into the pot as discards.

Tony dealt Gibbs two, saying, “And Jet takes two. If you’re drawin’ to a pair, you’re in trouble.”

Gibbs eyed him for a moment then demanded, “You countin’ cards?”

Tony shook his head. ”Too much work. I never did get that. You’re supposed to play for fun. If you need to win that badly, you shouldn’t play at all. I could ... I suppose.”

Tim nodded in agreement. “AJ’s right. Counting cards is way too much work. If you need money and are willing to put in that much thought, get a real job. But I don’t think you could actually do it, AJ.”

Tony scowled. “Bet I could. I’m good with numbers and remembering shit.”

Gibbs snorted. “Okay, I bet you can’t tell me what’s left in the deck without looking.”

“What’ll you bet?” Tony was well aware that, if he didn’t pin him down, Gibbs would say they’d bet a dollar.

“You hate my hair. Okay, here’s the bet. If you can’t name the cards, you go to my barber. If you can ... I’ll let you cut my hair.”

Tony shook his head. “No, if I don’t name every card, I’ll go to your barber, one time. If I do, you get a High and Tight and keep a short Ivy League for a year.”

“Okay, done deal.” Gibbs offered his hand across the table. Tony shook it then sat back down.

Tony looked at the pot. “Can I look at the discards? I wasn’t paying any attention to them.”

Gibbs nodded. “Fair is fair.”

Tony gathered up the cards, handing the deck off to Remy to hold. “Okay, Remy, hold that please.” He just went through the cards, noting which ones were there. He also took a second to think about who had been betting what. 

“Okay, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it.” He named off the cards he thought were still in the dealer’s deck. Remy checked as he named them. “Well?”

Remy flipped cards, naming them as he did. “He didn’t miss a one.”

Gibbs grimaced. “Well, shit.”

Tony grinned like a maniac. “Great! Remy, you got a kit?”

Remy just started laughing, when he was done he said, “You know I do.”

“Get it.” Tony rubbed his hands together with glee.

Gibbs grumbled, “If I’d known you were gonna butcher me yourself, I’d a picked a barber.”

Tony snorted. “And who do you think cuts everyone’s hair on deployment?”

Gibbs made a face. “I figured you did like everyone else and just let it go.”

Remy made a face. “No, thank you. Do not like the fuzz, me.”

Gibbs blinked; he thought for a moment before he realized that he’d never seen Remy with more than morning stubble. Nor Tony. Tim, Jimmy, Ducky; yes. He admitted to taking a weekend away from razors. But none of the SEALs, ever.

Tony shrugged at Gibbs’ puzzled glance. “POWs don’t get showers.”

Jimmy winced but didn’t say anything. He and Ducky both knew that none of the SEALs wanted sympathy, just understanding. Gibbs just grunted in that way he had and made a ‘bring it on’ motion to Remy.

Remy got up and got his kit, returning with the ditty bag containing his clippers and guards. “Here you go.”

Jimmy blinked for a moment. “Um ... why does Remy have the clippers if AJ cuts?”

“Room.” Remy shrugged. “I got it, he don’t.”

Jimmy nodded. “Oh, yeah. Like you carrying some of my stuff.”

“Exactly. So, let’s get this done.” Remy finished snapping a guard on the cutters and plugged the unit in. He handed the clippers to Tony.

Gibbs sighed. “And I paid five dollars for this cut.”

“And it shows. Really, really shows.” Tony turned to take a sheet from Tim. He wrapped the sheet around Gibbs’ shoulders, turning back a bit to catch the clippings. “There. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Gibbs grimaced, “And remind me never to play poker with you again.”

Tony looked offended, “And why is that, pray tell?”

“Card counting. Jerk.” Gibbs tipped his head back a bit.

“I never. Really, Jet, I don’t. Wasn’t even sure I could do it. Just have a really good memory for stuff.” Tony put his hand on Gibbs' forehead to keep clips out of his eyes then ran the clippers over the top of his head, giving him a reverse mohawk. 

There was some snickering at that and Jimmy suggested that it was a good look for Jet. This got him a glare from Gibbs and a gentle head smack from Dean. His automatic, “Hey!” was mostly ignored.

It didn’t take Tony long to finish the cut even though he changed guards twice. “Okay, cut’s done, all I need to do now is razor the edges.” Tony produced a cut-throat razor and a can of shaving cream. “You want to do your own sideburns or do you trust me?”

Gibbs chuckled softly. “I trust you on my six. I trust you with a razor at the back of my neck. Throat might be a different matter. Depends how steady your hands are.”

Tony held out a rock solid hand, smirked and allowed, “Shakin’ like a leaf.”

“Jackass.” Gibbs stood up, folding the sheet to hold the clips as he did so. He handed it off to Jimmy. “Dump that, will you?”

Jimmy took the sheet carefully. “Okay,” he smirked. “You could let me shave you, you know?”

Gibbs looked at him a bit warily. “Really?”

“Of course you’d have to lay down. I’m not sure I could do it with you sitting up.” He grinned at Gibbs.

Dean asked, “Why laying down? That’s weird.”

Jimmy smirked, “I’m just used to shaving people laying down.”

“Why?” Dean’s puzzled tone made Gibbs, Tim, and Tony cringe.

“Who do you think shaves the corpses before we send them out?”

Dean, Remy and Cosmo all gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look that made the NCIS members snicker. Dean offered, “That’s evil. Really evil.”

Cosmo added, “And gross.”

Gibbs said in that dry way of his, “I think I’ll let AJ do it, thanks.” Jimmy mock pouted a bit but sat back in his chair.

Tony finished his prep at the kitchen sink and returned to the table with a bowl of warm water, a wash cloth and a towel. He shook the shaving cream can then squirted a blob into the palm of his left hand. “Bend your head.” Gibbs obeyed so that Tony could smear shaving cream over the back of his neck. He passed the razor over Gibbs' neck then wiped the resultant residue off on the wash cloth. He repeated the process until Gibbs’ neck was neatly shaven. “There. Now the sideburns.”

Gibbs shook his head. “No, I’ll do that. Not that I don’t trust you not to cut me. I just rather do that myself.”

Tony shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He handed Gibbs the shaving cream. “Here.”

Gibbs took the can and the razor from Tony and retreated to the bathroom to neaten up his sideburns. He looked in the mirror and smiled a bit sadly; the last time he’d had a High and Tight, Shannon had shaved his neck for him. He’d shaved his sideburns because she wouldn’t. He wet his face, applied the cream and used the cut-throat to even his sideburns.

When he came out everyone gave him a slow once over. He rather self-consciously smoothed the top of his head, wondering if he had spikes. “What?”

Remy just shrugged. “Now ya look like a SEAL. Instead of some Snerd.”

Gibbs bopped him one. Remy took exception to this and grabbed him, wrestling him into a head lock. That didn’t last long as Gibbs eeled out of the lock and thumped Remy in the gut. They wrestled around a bit until Tony called them to order. 

“Okay, you guys, enough. If you two break this table I’m gonna be royal pissed. Come on.”

Gibbs gave Remy one last thump, which Remy returned, and settled at the table again.

Gibbs shrugged and said, “Not like I can’t build another.”

While they’d been messing around, Tim had gathered the cards and chips, calmly returning the bets to the original bettors. Dean shook his head over that. “How do you remember all this shit?”

Jimmy short ribbed him. “And you don’t?”

Dean squirmed away. “Not for something like this. Mission-oriented and I’m all over it.” He shrugged easily.

Cosmo offered, “Well, I do guess that it’s all in what you’re interested in.”

There was more chit-chat while they cleaned up the clips, swept the floor, and washed down the table. That done, they returned to their game.

The evening ended when Tim accused Tony of card counting again. Tony denied it rather heatedly, and the game ended when everyone realized that it was 0400 and everyone was too tired to be sensible.

. <><><><>

Gibbs punched his pillow for the hundredth time in what seemed like a year. He was having trouble sleeping, so he decided to get up and go to the basement to work on his boat. 

He was sanding a railing when Remy wandered down the stairs, scratching his ass. “Wha’ you doin’?”

“Boat.” Gibbs didn’t see any reason to elaborate, it was obvious what he was doing, if you looked.

Remy just took the sanding block out of Gibbs' hands and poked at him until he obediently crawled under the boat, grumbling, “Jet, it’s 0545; you need sleep.” 

The nest was still there, covered with a fine haze of sawdust. Gibbs handed the blankets out, announcing, “Dusty.”

Remy took the blankets and shook them, turning on the dust catcher to suck the dust away. “Like dat.”

Gibbs nodded, taking the blankets. “Me too. Thanks.”

“Keeps the mess out a’ the AC.”

“Does that.” Gibbs had never really noticed the fine layer of sawdust that he was constantly wiping off every flat surface. The guys had gotten him the dust catcher as soon as they noticed. He usually turned it on before he started to work. He hadn’t turned it on now because it was a bit noisy and he didn’t want to wake anyone up.

Remy handed the blankets to Gibbs. “Nest up.” He crawled under the boat to join Gibbs. They nested up with the blankets and a couple of pillows that Gibbs just slapped against the floor to knock the dust out.

It was about five minutes later that Dean came down with a blanket, sheet, and pillow of his own. “Can’t get settled.”

Gibbs poked Remy, who obediently moved to make room for Dean. 

Cosmo wandered down a few minutes later. “Dean?”

“Yeah. Here.” Dean poked his head out.

“Oh. Can’t sleep,” Cosmo grumbled. He squatted down to examine the nest. “Need more sheets and pillows.” He went away and came back about five minutes later with the top sheet and blanket off his bed and his pillow. “Scrooch.”

Everyone scrooched around so he could get in. After a bit of rustling and fussing, they settled down and were asleep within minutes, contentedly curled around each other.

. <><><><>

Tony eyed his watch, then frowned at the sky. “It’s nearly 1000; GHQ squad should be here.” He was getting a bit worried. They had agreed to meet at their usual start point at 0900, and the whole group was late. “We better go check on them.”

Tim fiddled with his phone for a moment, then agreed. “We better. I’ve called each one of them and texted. No answer.”

Jimmy just headed for Tony’s Hummer, climbing into the back seat and twisting to get his kit out of its cubby. “I’m ready. Oscar Mike.”

Tony started the Hummer, checked to make sure that Tim and Jimmy were buckled in, then headed for Gibbs' place.

When they arrived, the outside of the house gave no clues as to what was going on. It was dark and silent. Tony pointed to Tim, then made a circular motion with his index finger pointed at the sky. Tim headed for the back door, sidearm in hand. Jimmy took position behind Tony and dialed Tim on his Bluetooth. They quickly established communication.

Tony used his key to open the door, pushed it open carefully, and entered the living room. He glanced around, then slipped into the dining room/ kitchen. Still nothing.

Tim entered the back at the same time, Jimmy whispered, “Entering,” letting him know to toe the back door open. They swept the downstairs, then slipped up the stairs to the second floor. All the bedrooms were empty, but Tony now knew where the residents were.

“Jimmy? Think.” Tony took the opportunity to teach Jimmy something. “Clues.”

Jimmy glanced into the bedrooms then the bath. “No toiletries missing. No mess. But sheets, blankets, and pillows are missing.” He thought for a moment. “They’re all nested up under the boat. But why are they late?”

Tim chuckled softly. “It’s dark, they’re exhausted. Probably over-slept themselves. Remy covered the window a couple of weeks ago.”

Tony nodded. “Come on. We’ll wake them up and run from here. I’m glad we’ve got our rucks in the Hummer.”

They eased down the stairs; it wasn’t a good idea to startle any of their friends from a sound sleep. You could get hurt that way.

Tim snapped his fingers once to attract their attention, then pointed to the windows, which were now covered with blackout curtains. 

Tony nodded, then pointed to the boat. They couldn’t see anyone, but they all knew that the four men were nested up under the boat.

Jimmy took things into his own hands and simply knocked on the side of the boat. “Guys? You under there? Come on. Wake up.”

The resultant moaning, bitching, and grumbling made them laugh. 

Gibbs crawled out first, grumbling sourly. Remy was on his heels, with Dean and Cosmo next.

“What the fuck? It’s too damn early. What are you doing here at oh-dark-fuckin’ whatever?” Gibbs wasn’t adverse to expressing his displeasure at being awakened at any unreasonable, to him, hour.

Tony snickered, then offered, “It’s a quarter after ten, Jet. Wakeup call failed.”

Gibbs glared at Tony as if he’d said something truly rude about his mother. “I will jack you up, man.”

“No, really.” Tony offered his wrist, which Gibbs stared at for a second. 

“Well, shit.” 

Remy thumped Gibbs’ shoulder. “Ne’me’min, dude. We needed it. No one’s been sleepin’ good since that stalker bitch. Let it go.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, really.” He stretched, yawning widely. “Food would be good.”

Cosmo just started up the stairs. “Tater patrol.”

So they all trooped up the stairs to the kitchen. Gibbs let Cosmo take charge of peeling and shredding potatoes for hash browns. Tony bitched like a girl when he got onions. Gibbs smacked him and said, “Shutup. you haven’t done it for weeks.”

Remy started a huge batch of biscuits. Tim took over setting the table, while Jimmy began cracking eggs. Since there were so many of them, they never had anything other than scrambled, unless everyone made his own. 

Gibbs got out a huge tray of bulk country sausage and started making patties. “We’ll put this in the oven.”

Tim went over to start arranging the patties on baking sheets. “I’ll put them on jelly roll pans so the grease won’t get in the oven. Foil?”

“Yeah. Otherwise you’ll be scrapin’ grease out of the oven for an hour.” Gibbs used an elbow to point. “Moved it there.” Tim went to the cabinet and got out the roll of foil.

Gibbs got the patties made and covered, turned the oven on, then went to help peel potatoes. Tim went to start making batter for pancakes. 

Tim reached for some eggs for the batter and got his hand smacked for his trouble. “Ow! Hey! I need eggs for the pancake batter. Jerk.”

Jimmy didn’t look too upset over being called a jerk. “Well, ask, don’t just grab. Bitch.”

Tim eyed Jimmy for a moment then snarked, “Just be glad you’re working on something spillable. If you weren’t, I’d teach you who’s a bitch.”

Jimmy snorted. “I’m so scared; bring it on.”

Gibbs put a stop to the hostilities before they went any farther. “If you two are gonna mix it up, take it outside. I don’t want eggs and batter everywhere.”

Tim smacked Jimmy on the shoulder. “See, now you’ve gotten us both in trouble.”

“Oh, please. Own your stupidity, man.”

Gibbs whistled then barked, “Do I have to separate you? Seriously. I’ll take both your asses outside.”

Tim allowed that they didn’t want to go outside, with Jimmy nodding vigorously in the background. This was because Gibbs taking you outside resulted in his opening a can of wupass on you. Everyone else studiously avoided snickering.

The food was soon done, and they sat down to a breakfast of sausages, biscuits, gravy, hash brown potatoes with onions, pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, toast, and coffee. 

Due to house rules, Gibbs started the platters, taking his share, then passing it to the right. He and Ducky were both firm about certain things, with AJ as backup. No boarding house reach, no talking with your mouth full, and no arguing over the last serving of anything. This one was a bit difficult to enforce, so Gibbs usually handled that by taking it himself. Ducky usually just let the first person to ask for it.

Jimmy started the conversation by announcing, “Ducky’s published again.”

Gibbs nodded. “I heard. What’s this paper on?”

Tim swallowed quickly. “It’s not a paper, per se. It’s an article in Journal of Forensic Sciences. Something to do with aging of blood evidence. DNA breakdown. I tried to read it, but it got way too technical for me.”

Jimmy chuckled. “I found it fascinating. It’s ground-breaking in scope ... and you’re not interested.” He sighed. He still found himself babbling from time to time.

Remy offered, “Not so much not interested as ... too ignorant to understand.”

Dean nodded. “Not our area of expertise, nor in our pay grade.”

Tim agreed. “Very true. But ... where’s he presenting?”

Jimmy poked at his eggs. “London. He’s thrilled.”

Cosmo glanced up from his food. “You not?”

“No, I’m not. Vance is bringing in some guy from New York to take over for the two weeks that Ducky’s going to be gone. He’s not happy... Ducky, I mean. Nor am I. It would have been a good opportunity for me to get some experience as lead on autopsies.” He frowned at his plate. “As it is, I absolutely refuse to be reduced to clean-up guy. Just ... no.”

Gibbs’ opinion was made very plain. “They try ... take a couple of weeks off and let the new guy flounder. I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks. I believe I’ll do that.” Jimmy returned to his food, satisfied for now.

They finished breakfast and cleaned the kitchen. Remy stayed close to Tony until Gibbs asked, “You two livin’ in different houses a problem?”

Remy shook his head. “No. We get on each other’s nerves when we live together Stateside.” 

“You’re standin’ really close.” Gibbs gave Remy a doubtful look.

Tony swatted Remy. “Idjit just doesn’t understand personal boundaries or space.”

Remy shrugged. “Do. Just don’ care.”

Everyone laughed.

They finally got into running gear and headed out. 

They now had several different courses that they ran just to keep from being bored by the same paths every day. One of them went from Gibbs’ house to a gym that they all had memberships at. Tony announced that they were going there.

“We splitting the run or taking a bus back?” Remy wanted to know what to bring with him.

“Full ruck.” Tony was feeling a bit sadistic and smirked at the moaning and bitching. Even Gibbs voiced his displeasure. “Moaning and bitching like a bunch of soft, girly men will get you extra.”

The griping stopped at once. No one wanted any of AJ’s “extra;” it usually meant extra miles to run, extra laps to swim, and extra PT. He denied any intent to actually kill them, just make them wish they were dead. 

Tony eyed the group then announced, “Okay; pissing and moaning done? Let’s put wheels under this bitch.” He picked up his ruck and slung it over his shoulder.

Everyone did the same thing, and they spent a few minutes making sure that their packs were on properly, straps tight and untwisted. Gibbs was last out the door, making sure it was locked. 

Tony led the group as they started for the gym. He had several routes to the building in his head; he decided to chose the longest one. Let them bitch; the more you sweat in PT, the less you bleed in combat. When he took the left-hand turn at the end of the block, Dean just whined, “AJ, you asshole,” but they all kept up.

Jimmy snickered. “Shut it, Dean. He’ll just tack on more.”

Dean shut his mouth and ran on. 

Tony moved up the line of men, checking packs for too much bounce, stride for unevenness caused by forming blisters and sweating. 

Sweating was something to keep an eye on; too much, and there was a risk of dehydration; not enough, and overheating was a problem. Also, if the person wasn’t sweating, he might already be dehydrated or suffering from heat stroke. 

Tony barked, “Drink!” at Cosmo. Cosmo just lipped his straw and swallowed several gulps of water from his hydration module. Jimmy had insisted that everyone add one to their ruck, as he thought relying on bottled water hydration stops was unreliable. They all drank on rest stops, but he wanted to make sure that no one ran himself into some sort of heat stroke.

They managed the four miles to the gym in good time and entered the front door in a flood of hard bodies and laugher.

Dean smacked Remy. “Stop whining, bitch. I beat you by ten fuckin’ strides; not my fault you tripped. Clumsy.”

Remy promptly tripped Dean. “Is too! Did it a’ purpose, you.”

“Did not. Just because you’ve got feet like fuckin’ barges ... so not my fault.”

Tony poked Remy. “It was a crack in the damn sidewalk; get over it.”

They cheerfully argued over who was the slowest as they made their way to the lockers to stash their packs. After that they went into the yoga studio. Tony signed the whole group in with his smart phone, and they were met by a slightly confused young woman.

Heather watched as the men all stripped down to the biking shorts they were wearing under military whatchamacallits. “Well. Hello, everyone. My name is Heather and I’ll be your yogini today.”

As soon as they were done putting down their mats, they all turned and bowed to her. “Good morning, Heather.” She felt a bit intimidated by the intense attention directed at her by half a dozen men. She wasn’t that bothered by the bow; many of her students also practiced martial arts, and the bow was nearly instinctive. 

“As I'm new to the studio, I don’t know you. So, I apologize for not knowing your names.”

She tried a cheerful smile, only to let it fade as the oldest man, the one with the very short hair, asked, “Why are you here?” This wasn’t as unreasonable a question as you might think, as either Tony or Remy usually led the group, backed up by Tim or Jimmy, depending on what sort of yoga or tai chi they were doing that day.

Heather cleared her throat. “Um ... I’m a qualified instructor, and you have to have one to lead your asanas. New Company policy.”

“I see,” he nodded, then pointed to his chest. “Gibbs.” He pointed to each man in turn as he introduced the rest of the group. He then said, “I know you’re just trying to do your job. Good. But ... just stay out of the way, or try to keep up, as we usually lead ourselves.”

“Oh. Well, why don’t I just ... um ... stand at the side and observe, then. I’ll just make sure no one has such bad form that they hurt themselves.” She stepped to the side to wait for them to put her back in the lead where she belonged. She grumbled as she went, “And what’s with the hair?”

Gibbs heard her and snapped, “Lost a bet,” then returned to his place.

Heather winced; she actually hadn’t intended the men to overhear her. She turned her attention to the front.

Tony took his place at the front of the room, checked the thermostat, then said, “Hot today. Sun salutation.” The exclamations of, “AJ, you asshat!” “Damn it, AJ!” and moaning and groaning made Tony grin. They’d been slacking off on the yoga and tai chi a bit, laziness creeping in. 

Remy snarked from Cobra pose. “Jes’ ‘cause y’all been slackin’ don’ mean we gotta suffer.”

“It does, jerk.” Tim grunted as he shifted to Downward Facing Dog. “We suffer, you suffer.”

Cosmo moaned, “But why?”

Gibbs snarked, “You could mention that we’re beginnin’ ta slack. Lazy asshat.”

Heather started to say something, then faded into the woodwork as she realized that the job was being done by the whole group.

Cosmo barked, “Digimon! You’ve fallen into your shoulders,” which made Tim lift his head and neck from their position between his shoulders and force his shoulders into a straight line. “Good.”

Tony dropped out of his pose a few minutes later to move to Gibbs. He put one hand on his butt and the other on his breast bone. “You’re stickin’ your butt out.” He adjusted the pose; Gibbs grunted and tucked his hips back into line. “Better.”

Heather took the opportunity to whisper, “You should tell them you’re going to touch before you do. Personal space.”

Tony eyed her for a moment then allowed, “You’re right. Don’t fancy a punch in the head.”

Heather blinked for a moment, then realized, “Military?”

Tony skipped the long, drawn out explanation and went with the simpler, “Yeah. Navy, Marine, NCIS.” He returned to his place and lead.

Heather took the opportunity to try to flirt, just a bit. “Mr. Palmer?”

Jimmy grunted, “Yeah.”

“May I touch you?” Jimmy grunted again which Heather took as assent. “You need to straighten your back knee and ...” she tugged gently on Jimmy’s knee to help him straighten it, “relax just a bit more. You won’t fall into anyone.”

Tim snarked, “Oh, he’ll fall into someone. It’s his thing.” He then fell hard and rolled into Cosmo, knocking him into Remy, who fell into Dean. The only ones not flat were Jimmy, Heather, Gibbs, and Tony.

Heather took one look at the writhing, swearing pile of men and cracked up. She giggled, and the happy sound froze the squirming mass. This let them manage to sort themselves out, but that had to wait until they stopped rolling on the floor, laughing. 

Tony waited until they got sorted then ordered, “Okay, you morons, up. This fiasco means drownproofing practice...” he waited until the moaning died down. “In addition to the extra PT. And every bitch means ten more of everything.” He smirked at the group. “You’re all up to fifty. Anyone want to make it sixty?” He was assured that, “Sir! No, Sir! Fifty is fine, Sir!” 

When the yoga routine was finished, nearly an hour later, they headed for the gym proper and weight training, politely thanking Heather as they went by. This was where the fifty reps came into play. They usually did all their weight training in sets of ten, but, since Tony was pissed, they were going to have to do one set of fifty. “Killer” wasn’t the expression they used; more like, “Fuckin’ kill me now.” 

No one in the gym thought much of the group policing themselves; many of the members had a small clique of their own and watched each other instead of having the staff do it. 

Tony set a killing pace. “Okay, everyone use auto-safety machines; we need to get through this quickly so we can get to the drownproofing.” He settled at a machine. “I expect everyone to be ready to shift when I am.” He started his workout, counting his reps himself. 

The rest of the gym watched in awe as the entire team seemed to work in unison, finishing their sets nearly together then getting up and going to the next machine in the circuit. 

Jimmy stopped his last set a bit short. Tony called him on it. “Short count, Gremlin.”

“I know. Hydration check. Gibbs isn’t sweating.” Jimmy went to Gibbs and pinched up some skin on his arm. It snapped back in a satisfactory manner, so Jimmy eyed Gibbs for a moment. “Okay. I don’t know how you do that, but I want you sweating in five minutes. And drink.”

Gibbs just smirked at him and didn’t tell him that he, Gibbs, just didn’t sweat that much. He obeyed about the drinking and went back to his set.

Jimmy checked everyone else and found that they were all sweating, as Remy put it, like bull alligators on a sunny bank. Tony eyed Gibbs for a moment, then relaxed; he looked fine, sweating slightly and clicking off his reps with machine-like regularity.

One of the trainers took the opportunity to step into his assigned roll. “If you like, I’ll bring over some more drinks. Maybe a nice smoothie?”

Jimmy nodded a bit absently as he went back to his machine. “Sure. Something really girly like a Berry Mango Madness or a Banana Blueberry Burst.” He was hit in the face and chest with several sweaty towels. “Thanks. Bunches. Really.” He tossed each one back at its owner. 

There was some snickering from bystanders, but Rex, the trainer, took the hint and went to fetch bottled water and fruit juices, but no smoothies. He put a bottle of water within reach of each machine, along with apple juice, orange juice, and wheat-grass juice. The wheat grass was rejected out of hand.

Tony eyed the bottle of green stuff and said, “No. Not only no, but oh, hell, no. Not drinking anything that looks like it was pumped out of a bilge.” 

Gibbs shook his head. “Apple is for kids. And green crap? I’m with AJ.”

The trainer just shrugged. “Never know until you try it. Might like it.” And with that he just ambled off to check on another member. He’d keep an eye on them, but he was fairly sure they really knew what they were doing.

They worked in silence until the last rep on the last machine was finished, then Tony ordered, “Everyone down a full bottle of water. Juice too, if you want. Then ... drownproofing.” 

There was a bit of grumbling, but not much. Everyone was well aware that it was necessary practice; they all had to pass competency tests on a regular basis. No one had been surprised when, last time they were tested, Gibbs, Jimmy, and Tim had tested too. Gibbs had passed with flying colors, no surprise there. But Jimmy and Tim had both passed with excellent marks. Not the top, but good enough that the testers had admitted that they wouldn’t complain with either one of them on their six. Cosmo, Dean, and Remy had also tested at NCIS and were now reserve NCIS agents.

It didn’t take them long to get to the pool, which was nearly empty this early. Most of the clients did their laps in the evening. The few that were swimming laps now wouldn’t be a problem.

Tony picked up the duffle he’d brought in with him and pulled out a SOG and a coil of heavy cord. “Okay. Line up, pair off.” The group obediently did as told, pairing up Remy-Tony, Dean-Cosmo, Tim-Jimmy, which left Gibbs odd man out as usual. Tony tied Remy then, to the horror of the watchers, tossed him in the deep end. He also tied Dean, Tim and Gibbs. He turned to the lifeguard, who was inured to this sort of thing by constant exposure. “Watch Gibbs.”

“You got it. But you’re all nuts. Just sayin’.” The guard turned to keep his eyes on Gibbs.

“Frank, you’re just a civvie.” Tony kept his eyes on Remy.

Frank shook his head. “And a rather scared one. I don’t like this. What if there’s some sort of trouble?”

Tony shrugged, “Then I jump in an’ cut ‘em loose.” He looked down, guiding Frank’s eyes to the SOG divers' knife now strapped to his calf. 

Frank followed his glance then nodded. “Okay, then.” He returned to watching Gibbs. “He’s kinda old, isn’t he? I mean, gray and all.”

Jimmy chimed in, saying, “He’s the oldest of us, but that’s no biggie. He’s got the body of a 25-year-old. He’s in better shape than you are, and he’s got the training of a Marine Scout Sniper and he’s just plain ....” Jimmy gestured, trying to describe Gibbs.

Cosmo helped. “He’s the biggest damn dog in the yard. Period.”

Frankie thought about that for a moment then said, “Okay, but what the hell is with that hair cut?”

Tony snorted a laugh. “Lost a bet. You’ve seen the old cut. Awful.”

It wasn’t long before the exercise turned into laps, then more bobbing. Tony took several floats from his bag and tossed them into the pool. He told the bobbing men, “The man who comes up with the most retrieves gets a pass on the return run. Pay for your own damn cab, though.”

Gibbs was the first to surface with a float clenched in his teeth. Tony nodded. “One.” Gibbs glanced up as if to say, ‘What the hell do I do with it now?’ Tony replied to the question, “Just drop it; I’m keepin’ score.” 

Remy was the next up, with two floats in his mouth. Tony muttered, “Showoff,” but nodded to him. Frankie actually had a clipboard in his hands and was making tick marks next to names. Tony decided not to tell him that it wasn’t needed; the boy was trying to be nice, so Tony let him.

They continued to bring up floats until Tony called, “Time.” He had to call it each time someone came up, as they couldn’t hear him under water. As they popped up, each man was helped out by his buddy; Gibbs by Frankie. They were untied and handed towels. 

Tony took the clipboard from Frankie, glanced at it, then said, “Okay; winner, with eight floats is ... Remy. Second with seven is ... Gibbs. You two losers tied with five.” Dean and Tim both groaned. “Piss and moan some more, why don’t you?” Tony gave them both a hairy eyeball; they shut up.

Remy nodded. “Your turn.” Tony just waited while Remy tied him and tossed him into the pool. He let himself sink to the bottom, as he usually did, then began to bob. Jimmy and Cosmo soon joined him. After bobbing came laps, then retrieval. 

Retrieval turned out to be interesting. Tony, despite his scarred lungs, could hold his breath for quite some time. He’d been timed at six active minutes, and nearly ten when just resting on the bottom. The only people who managed more were the Japanese Ama pearl divers.

The fact that Tony was collecting his floats by swimming down, turning over backwards and picking them up in his hands made it possible for him to gather all of them at once. He popped to the surface and Remy announced, “Seven.” Tony dropped them, waited until they were obviously on the bottom then dove again. While he was returning to the bottom. Jimmy picked up two floats and Cosmo three.

Tony returned to the surface again, smirking smugly, with three floats, the cords clenched in his teeth.

Remy snarled, “Three! Showoff.”

Tony spit them out and said, “Grapes, mon ami, very sour ones.”

Remy snarled again, something rude, Cajun, and under his breath. Tony just grinned and submerged again.

Jimmy managed to get one float into his mouth and bring it to the surface. Cosmo was also struggling, but only because he was having difficulty getting a float; Tony was hogging them all. Remy finally barked, “AJ, damn it, enough.” He reached out and pulled Tony out of the water and dumped him on the deck. “Jet, deal with him.”

Gibbs took the knife Remy offered him and cut the cords from around Tony’s wrists and ankles. He accepted a towel from Frankie and wrapped it around Tony’s shoulders. “There. Dry your hair.” 

Jimmy and Cosmo continued to bring up floats until Remy called time on them. The final count was Tony, ten; Jimmy, six; and Cosmo, seven.

There was a bit of grumbling from the losers, but it was good-natured; Tony and Remy always won. As Tony said, “Age and experience dominate youth and enthusiasm.”

They settled in the juice bar dripping and laughing. They all ordered some sort of smoothie, at Jimmy’s orders. It was either that or let him order something for them. This wasn’t an option, as he tended to order stuff that was really good for them, regardless of taste.

Gibbs was majorly pissed with the attendant when he said, “New cut. I like. Much better than that ...” he waved a hand, “whatever it was.” He took his strawberry-banana protein shake and snarled wordlessly. The man just smiled and turned to Remy. “Next.”

. <><><><>

Sunday was a day of rest, recreation, and madness. They decided to go to the mall, just because. 

Tony needed a new shirt; Gibbs wanted a pair of jeans. The rest of the guys were just dead weight, with no objective other than to do something rather than nothing.

They all piled into Tony’s Hummer and spent the drive telling stories and jokes. Gibbs told one about the time in basic when some REMF started giving the base commander orders, never mind that he had enough “junk” on his uniform that he should have known better. 

Tony told them about the time Ziva had been pulled over by a DCPD officer, with him in the back seat, and managed to talk the poor man in circles, alternately speaking Hebrew, Yiddish, and French. She’d left him so confused that he motioned them away, then just stood on the side of the road, watching them drive off.

Dean snickered, said, “Blow-up dolls.” Tim winced but Tony burst into laughter.

Tony shook his head. “No, Tim, not that one that kid ordered for you.” He clutched the steering wheel to help control his laughter. “No shit, there we were, in the middle of bum-fuck some damn ‘Stan or other, and this shiny new Annapolis grad starts issuing orders that were abso-fuckin’-lutley guaranteed to buy us all a farm. No one listened, of course, so this jackwad starts givin’ out reps like candy. Well, someone, with a Cajun accent, claims that the jerk needs some pussy cause his balls are backed up and affecting his mental processes. He gets all pissy and says that there’s no way, not even a blow-up doll within forty clicks. Next day, he opens his footlocker, and ten of ‘em pop out, inflate, and block the door so he can’t even get out of his quarters. Took someone twenty minutes to poke them and flatten ‘em.” 

Tim nearly fell off his seat, he laughed so hard. Gibbs had to lean against the door. Jimmy just shook his head and asked, “And where did this someone find ten blow-up dolls? Enquiring minds need to know.” This led to even more laugher.

By now they’d reached the mall, so Tony parked and they headed in. Security took one look at them and collectively whimpered. Most of the time, groups like this were peaceful and respectful. Every now and then, they were a disaster on wheels. They were never sure which until they checked. The Head of Security assigned a man just to keep an eye on the group. He was spotted in two minutes.

Tim poked Tony. “Behind me on my left.”

Tony turned away and got a look at the man in the reflection of a shop window. “Yeah. Security.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

Tony thought for a moment as he examined the suit in the window. “Nothing. We’re a group of men in uniforms; they’re probably just making sure we’re not going to make trouble.”

Gibbs eyed the man from the bench he’d sat down on. He wasn’t doing anything except watching, so they were going to ignore him. He turned his head when someone cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you a bit old to be raw?” The man who had spoken was about Gibbs' age and obviously a Vet.

“Lost a damn bet.” Gibbs grimaced; he was already tired of the remarks. “Never playin’ cards with DiNozzo again. Swear.”

The man chuckled. “Well, should know better than to play with the kiddies.” His gaze wandered to the rest of the group. “Look like a good team.”

Gibbs followed his gaze. “They are.” 

Tony went into the men’s wear store to find the shirt he wanted. 

The clerk who approached him grimaced; this was not going to be easy. Tony smiled at him. “I know. I need a dress shirt. Looking for something to go with a brown summer suit.”

The clerk nodded. “Okay. Let me see.” He looked Tony over then sighed. “Yeah, you’re going to be a bit of a problem. Let me get my tape and measure. Have you ever thought about bespoke?”

Tony grumbled. “Yeah. But it’s expensive. I do love a good suit, but I’m less and less inclined to buy expensive stuff. And I need that shirt soon. How long if I do go with tailor-made?”

“Six weeks.” The clerk returned with his tape. “Arms out, please.”

Tony obligingly moved as requested and let the man measure him.

“Well, I can fit you, but you’ll have to use an extender on the collar.” The clerk checked his pad again.

“Okay. What the hell is an extender?” Tony had never heard of such a thing.

The clerk had already gone to a case and opened it. “Here.” He got a package out of the back of the case. “It’s a button-and-elastic thing.” He handed to package to Tony.

Tony opened it and pulled the odd-looking thing out. It was a loop of elastic, cinched in the middle with a metal crimp tube; the tube had a button at the end of it, held in place with the other end of the elastic loop. “Okay?”

The clerk took it back. “May I?” he gestured to Tony’s neck.

“Sure.” Tony lifted his chin. 

The clerk slipped the longer loop of elastic over the button at the neck of Tony’s shirt then buttoned the button through the buttonhole. This closed the neck of Tony’s shirt without choking him half to death. “There.”

Tony went to the mirror to examine the device. “Okay. That’s good. I’ll take six. Do you have black or tan?”

The clerk nodded. “I’ve got white, black, tan, and dark brown.”

Tony thought for a moment as he unbuttoned the sample and examined it again. “I’ll take two of each.”

The clerk produced several shirts that should fit. Tony stripped off in the changing room, making sure that the curtain was firmly closed. He tried on the first shirt and found that it fit, but would need an extender for the collar. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone behind him yelped. “What the fuck?” Tony cringed, the scars on his back weren’t nearly as bad as they’d been even six months ago, due to frequent applications of the cream that Ducky had prescribed. Jimmy, Tim, and Ducky had seen to that. But they were still much lighter than the rest of his back and always would be. He sighed and pulled his camo t-shirt back on. Leaving his button-up shirt in the changing room, he walked briskly out the door and looked around. 

The entire Pod, except for Gibbs, was gathered around the back counter, just to his left. A clerk, a younger man, was standing there, white-faced and shaking. He was babbling. 

Tony took a moment to listen and realized that the kid had not only seen his scars, but could read them. He eased into the group and touched the kid's arm. “It’s okay. Take it easy.”

The young man turned, tears on his face. “No, it is not, as you say, okay. Someone has defiled you and the Holy Book. Some ... evil person ...” he trailed off, looking shattered.

Dean patted his shoulder. “Done deal, man. Nothing you can do about it. It’s fading.”

Tony sighed; he hated shit like this. The kid was upset, he was pissed, the Pod was all a-flutter; he just wanted it to go away.

Gibbs ambled in, took one look, and took charge. “Tony, get your stuff. If you’ve got something to buy, pay for it. Dean, take ...” he motioned to the kid, “him in the back and hand him off to someone. Let them calm him down or whatever. The rest of you numbnuts ... out.” 

It took a bit of doing, but they finally got out of the store. Tony accepted one shirt as a gift, although it was against Navy and NCIS regs. He just didn’t have the heart to turn it down. 

Tony found a seat in the center area that was shielded by plants and a decorative wall, a sort of pit in one corner of the depression, and flopped down. “Man ... son of a bitch.” He rubbed his face. “I hate that. Poor kid. Seriously.” Remy handed him a cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer and two sugars, then sat down beside him. Dean and Cosmo stood in front of him with cups in their hands, trying to look inconspicuous.

Remy shook his head. “I’m never gettin’ mo’ dan t’ree feet away from ya ne’me’mo. True.”

Gibbs, done getting the coffee, sat on the other side of Tony and sighed. “You ... damn.” He shrugged. “At least I got my jeans.”

Tony slugged him in the side. “Asshat.”

Gibbs grunted. “Suck it up and deal.”

Tony grimaced, drank his coffee, and sulked. Remy rubbed his back and offered a second cup of coffee. 

A security guard dressed in a suit approached them carefully. “He okay? Sir?”

Tony looked up. “Yeah. I’m okay. Sorta had a ... not sure what to call it. Nasty shock.”

“Anything I can do?” The security guard looked the group over, but decided that they looked like they were coping.

“No. We’ll be fine in a moment. Just need some peace and quiet to collect ourselves.” Cosmo eased the man out of their personal space and sent him on his way.

They sat for a bit longer, then Tony decided, “I need out. I need to leave.” He stood up, glancing around for an exit.

Gibbs touched his shoulder. “Okay. This way. We’ll go to my place and have burgers or something. How’s that?”

Tony rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. That sounds good.”

Remy just patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

They headed out, walking quickly. It didn’t take them long to get to the Hummer; Gibbs took the wheel. His usual method of driving didn’t really bother any of them, and they were soon home again.

Gibbs glanced from Tony to Remy. “AJ, what do you need?”

Tony sighed, rubbed his face and said, “Nothing really. Just need to sit and process a bit. I’ll go out onto the terrace and start the pit.”

Since it was obvious that Tony just wanted some time to himself, the rest of the Pod went in to put things away and start prep for the burgers.

Tony fiddled around for a bit, then Dean stuck his head out the back door and looked at him for a moment. He started to go back inside, but Tony motioned him back. “It’s okay. I’m done bein’ a big girl.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Big girl.” He made a rude noise then retreated to the kitchen to tell the others to bring out beer and chips. It wasn’t long before Gibbs came out with a platter of burgers, followed by the rest of the Pod. Jimmy brought out the condiments in a bucket while Cosmo and Tim carried out the plates and utensils. Dean came back out with another platter loaded with buns.

Tim settled at the table beside Tony. “AJ?”

“I’m okay. I need to go put those shirts in the wash. I hate wearing stuff right out of the package. Who knows what sort of filth they got dragged through.” Tony started to get up.

“No, I put them in. Gibbs was going to put them in with his jeans.” Tim snickered. Gibbs' usual laundry habits made them all crazy. He was forbidden to do wash. He was great at folding, but did tend to just toss things in regardless. 

Tony shook his head. “Man, he’ll never learn. Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Tim patted Tony on the shoulder. “Doin’ better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Dean grabbed Cosmo, yelling, “Cos! Bro! Gotcha.” 

Cosmo grabbed back and they wound up on the grass, wrestling for a pin. They thrashed around, using high-school wrestling moves, until Cosmo pinned Dean. Dean slapped out exclaiming, “Okay! Okay! Uncle, aunts, and all my cousins.”

Gibbs called them to the table, yelling, “Chow! Get it before the hogs do.”

Everyone grabbed a seat at the table, and Gibbs started the bun platter around first. House rules were, you only took two patties first round; that made sure that everyone got some. It didn’t hurt that Gibbs' idea of a patty weighed in at half a pound... cooked weight. Since all the condiments were in the middle of the table, it wasn’t that hard to get to them. 

The next platter passed had the patties on it, followed by bacon and cheese. Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and pickles were considered condiments, along with mustard, mayo, and ketchup.

Gibbs had also warmed a huge pot of baked beans and trays of fries on the grill. These disappeared quickly as well.

Cleanup was done quickly, and the usual argument over what to watch didn’t materialize, as Tony admitted that he was wiped and really just wanted to go home and read. Tim and Jimmy said they were going with him, as they were not going to leave him alone in the house. 

Goodbyes were quickly said, with Gibbs telling Jimmy, “Call if you need to. Remy’ll come over for sure.”

Remy cornered Tony for a quick word, “Man, AJ, you need me, you call. Hear?”

“I do. Thanks. I’ll be okay. Just need some total down time.” Tony slapped Remy on the shoulder. “Gibbs' hair.”

Remy snickered. “It do look good. That Marine catastrophe is best gone. ‘Night.”

And, with that, they were gone into the twilight.

. <><><><>

Monday dawned bright and clear; it was going to be hot later. They did their PT, then split for cleanup. They met back up at Gibbs' favorite coffee shop.

The Barista couldn’t be convinced to call Gibbs ‘just’ Gibbs, so he greeted his customer with, “Hey, Mr. Gibbs. How are you?” He grinned as he started Gibbs' usual order. “Great cut. Real sharp.” He filled the venti cup and added a shot. “There you go. Have a nice day.” Gibbs scowled for a moment then shrugged, paid, and got out of Dean’s way.

After the rest of the GHQ team got their coffee, they went to the Navy Yard, then split, with Gibbs heading for the NCIS building while Dean, Cosmo, and Remy headed for the SEAL command deeper in the Yard.

When Gibbs got to the check-in desk, Walter, the current security guard, nodded to him. Gibbs put his sidearm, keys, pocket junk, and wallets into the bin, then stepped through the gate. Walter eyed him for a moment, then said, “New cut?” Gibbs nodded. “Looks great. It’s a lot better than your usual hack job. You’re clear.” Walter stepped out of the way to let Gibbs get his stuff. He never noticed the crease between Gibbs’ eyes. The one that meant he was getting pissed.

. <><><><>

Dean’s sneaky call sent Abby up to the bullpen to see Gibbs' new cut. She popped out of the elevator with a squeal. “Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!” She hustled over to stare at him for several seconds. “Oh. My. God. You look so nice. Wow! Really nice. I love it.” She hugged him quickly, kissed his cheek, leaving a crimson imprint, then trotted back to the elevator. “Really, really nice. Gotta go. My babies call.” And with that, she caught the elevator door before it closed, darted in, and punched the button for her floor. "I gotta call Ducky.”

But it seemed that Ducky already knew about Gibbs' new cut, due to Tony’s bragging about it the second he got home. 

Ducky actually made his own trip up to get a look. He looked Gibbs over, then said in a kindly tone, “Well, Jethro, I do like the look. It makes you look younger. Very nice.” His phone tootled, so he looked at the screen. “I have a body coming in.” And with that he just wandered off toward the elevator, humming softly.

Tony looked up from his computer, grinned, then returned to his work.

Gibbs took a moment to calm down, then said, “AJ, you okay?”

“Yeah, boss, just a minor meltdown.” Tony turned to face his friend. “Just ... I’m tired. We’ve been humpin’ it hard lately.”

Gibbs took a second for a real welfare check. He realized that he was tired too. They’d had back-to-back cases since the Stalker thing, with several hard cases before that. Not to mention the fact that the SEALs had been out on missions at least once a month for the last four. 

Tim joined the conversation, saying, “I’m tired too. We’ve been on the run for months. We really need some serious down time, and I don’t mean a weekend off.”

They were discussing the possibility of taking a couple of weeks off when Remy called Tony. Tony put it on speaker after asking Remy. 

“Got a call from housekeeping.” Tony grimaced, wondering what Personnel wanted. “We got to take at least fourteen days or lose ‘em. They’re gettin’ pissy about that sort of thing.”

Tony thought for a moment. “How are you guys feeling? Really.”

Dean’s voice came from the speaker. “We’re all tired. How about some real down time?”

Remy added, “Gran wants me for the Fourth. We could all go?” His Grandmother always had a family reunion on the Fourth of July, friends welcome. Remy had missed last year because they’d been on an Op, so he really wanted to go this year.

“Sounds good.” Gibbs headed for his desk to put in a request for the time. NCIS was also getting really insistent that they not carry too much leave time, so he wasn’t worried about an approval.

Vance was so surprised by the request that came across his desk that he actually went down to the bullpen to check. He found Gibbs at his desk, while Tony was standing in front of Tim’s with a handful of papers.

“What’s this ....” he trailed off as he got a good look at Gibbs. “Well. This is a surprise. Not only a proper request for leave time but a new ‘do? Looks good on you. And request for leave granted.” Leon Vance couldn’t help the grin. “And keep the new cut, please. The old one looked like some sort of ... don’t even know what.” He snickered and headed back up the stairs.

Gibbs stood up and walked around his desk to stand by Tony, glowering after Vance. 

Tony smirked at him, saying, “Told ya, Jet. That hair...” he just shook his head.

Gibbs snarled, “Okay, okay. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Tony just rubbed a circle on Gibbs’ back while Tim snickered. 

 

. <><><><>  
notes:

Short ribbing someone is poking them in the floating ribs with a stiff hand. Do it too hard and you can really hurt someone.

Snerd is a reference to a dummy created by the ventriloquist Edgar Bergen.

You don’t tie hands and feet, think about it. Where do you put the ropes? Wrists and ankles. [I saw a film on drownproofing in the Air Force; they tube-tied the guys – tied their arms to their sides with coils of rope, then just tied their ankles together. Never had to do it, though. Heck, I’ve never even learned how to swim! ;D]


End file.
